Snatch Back 190615
by MattyCM
Summary: Latest version of Snatch Back. Three lads are caught in the middle of a kidnap gone wrong. Politicians are wringing their hands, it's a jurisdictional nightmare. The situation needs resolving immediately and there is a group who are just the right tool.


_Snatch Back_

Marcus jolted awake, he knew straight away he'd overslept, now he'd have to roll over and face the alarm clock to see how bad it was. Deep in the building the boiler throbbed, pumping hot water to the radiator across the room. It was a cold autumn morning outside, but inside was cosy.

His boyfriend, Charlie, was still sleeping soundly next to him in their double bed. His mop of brown hair with bleached blond highlights was sprayed across the pillow, the top of his lightly tanned body poked out from the duvet.

Gently Marcus turned over and looked at the clock, trying not to wake Charlie, 0700, damn, he should be at work now, he was 30 minutes late leaving the house! He made a quick decision, dressing straight into his wetsuit would help him make up time when he got to work at the Outdoor Centre. He hoped Jack the trainee was on time and had made a start on launching the boats for the dinghy courses scheduled today.

Sliding out of bed, he pulled his black Adidas boxer swim shorts from the clean laundry pile. Stepping into the leg hole, he hoisted them up his legs to his waist, quickly adjusting their fit before grabbing an animal rash guard, it's triple block colours of red white and black fitted his light figure well, but no time to admire it for it was about disappear beneath a layer of neoprene. He took his dark blue O'Neil wetsuit from it's hanger. Sitting on the side of the bed, he slotted his right foot into the leg hole and eased it up his calf and over his knee. Repeating the process with his left leg, he stood up and dragged the wetty to his waist. Dipping down, he squeezed his right arm into the long sleeve and stuck his hand out the end. Pushing left into the sleeve, he yanked the suit onto his upper body and reached behind for the zipper. Charlie stirred in the bed, with a sigh he opened his eyes. Seeing his flustered boyfriend reaching for the zipper, he leant across the bed and guided his hand.

While Marcus zipped the suit closed, Charlie rose and stood behind him, both lads admiring themselves in the full length mirror. Marcus covered in neoprene while Charlie was butt naked. Marcus' skinny 5'10" figure shadowed the reflection of the more athletic built Charlie standing behind him, the 6'1" hunk's perfectly formed muscles looked great.

As Marcus used his hands to push his short brown hair into place Charlie placed his hands first on Marcus' hips, then worked round to his crotch, rubbing it while he kissed his neck. At first Marcus obliged, groaning slowly as Charlie worked his magic on the pole now appearing under the wetsuit. But before he got too carried away, he pushed Charlie away.

"No, I'm late! I've got to cycle to work like this and I'm showing already!"

Charlie sighed, he'd have to wait for his fun, a morning tease would have to suffice for now. He collapsed front first onto the mattress in dramatic fashion, reaching under the bed he produced a baggy sweatshirt.

"Hey sexy, this will cover you up and it's chilly out there this morning." he said as he tossed the hoody to Marcus. He rolled over and resumed his face buried in pillow sleeping position. Marcus threw the jumper on and turned back to Charlie. He walked softly across the room and kissed the naked back of Charlie. From the pillow he muffled "Go to work, you cock tease."

Marcus turned for the door, a day at work beckoned, but fun with Charlie would come afterwards.

Chapter 2

After a furious twenty minute cycle across town, Marcus turned into the Outdoor Centre. The place was fairly remote, situated next to a quay used to unload dredgers, tucked away from the view of the main road by several tall trees.

The air felt heavy, rain was on the way and the breeze was stiffening from the South West.

The workshop was already unlocked, as he entered the building he caught a brief sight of Jack, already wetsuited up, loading something into a rib moored on the slip way with a larger man whom he didn't recognise.

His wetsuit glistened in the morning sun and his normally sandy hair was a dripping brown colour. Marcus assumed he'd been for a morning surf before work.

Jack was a local lad, he spent all his spare time on water sports, sailing, surfing, snorkelling. Everything and anything. He'd spent the summer working at the Outdoor centre as an assistant instructor. In the mornings he'd set up the class, rigging boats, windsurfing rigs, paddle boards etc. After class, he'd pack everything away, washing down the boats and wetsuits from the day. He'd impressed through the summer and was now an official trainee instructor. They got on well, Jack was easy going and always keen.

Laying his bike to one side, he took off the baggy hoody, his erection had long since faded away.

Under a work bench sat a large plastic box with his name on. He prized the lid off. Inside was his booties, he quickly swapped them with his trainers and hoody and threw the box back under the bench.

He walked out of the workshop and round the corner of the building. Nothing could prepare him for what he was about to see.

A Black panel van was semi abandoned at the top of the slip. Not only did it have heavy damage to it's bodywork, but there were clearly bullet holes in the side to complete the war torn look. The back doors were open facing the slip, and Jack was carrying two sports bags from the van to the rib. Cautiously, Marcus walked closer. Creeping around the front of the van, hoping to avoid being spotted, he stumbled on top of another man, slumped against the passenger side, bleeding heavily, he brandished a gun, straight at Marcus.

Everything slowed down, breath by breath, heart beat by heart beat. The young water sports instructor stared at this mysterious villain who was pointing a firearm at him, a small black pistol.

"Easy son, nice and steady, just stay where you are" growled the bald man. "Bert. Bert. Bert!" he called, presumably to the other man Marcus had seen with Jack. "We got another turned up Bert"

Jack appeared from around the back of the van, followed by 'Bert', who stood 6'6" and was easily 18 stone. His bald head reflected the little sunlight there was. Jack moved slowly, covered by Bert with another black pistol. Bert studied Marcus for a moment, especially his attire.

"Who are you?" spoke Bert with a thick London accent.

"Marcus. I work here." Marcus replied with his soft South Coast accent, slightly polished by his grammar school education"

"What do you mean, work? Why are you dressed like that?"

"I teach water sports, I have to wear a wetsuit to teach sailing."

Bert's face lit up

"You can sail?"

"Yes. Those." Marcus motioned toward the dinghy fleet in the nearby compound.

"What about that?"Bert gestured at the rib Marcus had seen him and Jack loading.

"I drive one of them. I teach from it"

Bert switched his attention to the man slumped on the floor.

"He's supposed to drive that. Don't look like he's gonna make it" pointing at the pool of blood.

"So you'll drive it."

Marcus exchanged knowing glances with Jack. They weren't in a position to negotiate.

"You. Finish putting them bags in the boat then wait there. You're coming with us, no witnesses, nobody phoning the law." Bert gestured this way and that way with the barrel of his gun. "Tony, get over here and cover him." The wounded man shuffled along the side of the van and propped himself up against the bumper.

Bert now turned to Marcus. "We got another package needs to go in the boat, but it needs wrapping. Got any more of them wetsuits round here?"

"Yeah sure, we have all shapes and sizes, they are for people on the courses." Marcus was looking Bert over, gauging him for a wetsuit. Bert realised what Marcus was thinking and corrected him.

"It ain't for me, for him." He opened the side door to reveal a lad in his late teens. His hands and feet were bound with thick rope, tape gagged his mouth. He was naked except for his boxers and laying on the floor of the van.

"We're gonna take a walk to where you keep these wetsuits. I want one for him. And don't get any ideas! Any funny business and I'll put a round, in his head! As he stressed the last part of the sentence, he pressed the barrel of the gun against Jack's temple. "Now!" He shouted.

As Jack set to work humping sports bags, Bert untied the mystery lad and peeled off the tape.

"Now we're gonna get you some clothes. You know the drill." he sneered at the teen.

The trio walked in silence back to the workshop. Marcus opened a connecting door to reveal a whole locker room full of wetsuits. He beckoned for the boy to follow, while Bert stood at the outer door, keeping watch for any more people likely to stumble on him.

The smell of warm neoprene hit them instantly. Rows of wetsuits hung on clothes racks before them.

Marcus looked the lad over. About 5'9" and slim build. He sized people for wetsuits every day, so he quickly picked a large from the rail and held it up against the prisoner, first his front. "Turn around" he said softly, and offered the suit up against the back of the teen.

"No talking" barked Bert from the doorway. "And hurry up"

Marcus laid the suit to one side. Placing his hands on the shoulders of the half naked lad in front of him, he gently turned him round so they were face to face. Using an improvised sign language, he instructed him to goto the corner, drop his shorts and slide the suit on, re enforcing the message that the zipper went at the back, by pulling at his own lanyard.

He turned his back, but the metallic paintwork of the generator in front of him gave a perfect view. The lad quickly shimmied his boxers off and bent over to step into the suit, giving Marcus a full show of his tight buttocks.

The Gul wetsuit was two tone blue, the top fading into a bright blue over the shoulders and down the sleeves, with yellow side panels complimenting it perfectly. A navy blue ran down the legs, blending elegantly with the lighter top half. The Gul logo was displayed in white flashes on both sleeves, falling right on the biceps.

He dressed quickly and returned to Marcus, tapping him on the shoulder and tugging at the zipper. Marcus placed one hand on the bottom of the zip and the other on the lanyard. Slowly he slid it up the cold back of the boy. Reaching the top, he stowed the zipper and closed the Velcro fastening. Marcus strode over the side of the room, the lad followed. Rubber buckets lay on the floor, filled with boots, gloves and hoods. He quickly picked out a pair of size nine boots and tossed them to the blond lad. As the boy pulled the rubber shoes on, Marcus called to his captor.

"We're ready"

"Good. Get in the boat. I've got one last thing then we're out of here"

The three wetsuited lads assembled together in the rib. All around were sports bags, twenty in total. Tony was now slumped over against the van, barely concious. Bert walked over and began shaking him. "Maps. Where's the maps?"

Becoming agitated, he shook the dying man harder and a packet fell from his coat. Opening the envelope, Bert discovered the maps he had been demanding. Placing them in his pocket, he drew his pistol and fired into Tony, twice.

Returning to the rib, he looked at the three horrified lads. "No witnesses." he said coldly. Taking out the packet, he thrust it at Marcus.

"You. Drive this thing to where it shows on the map"

Marcus unfolded the map. Marked on it was the location of a larger vessel at anchor, about three miles off shore.

He turned to Jack "OK, cast off"

The orange rib slipped it's mooring and Marcus manoeuvred to the direction of the harbour exit, setting a leisurely pace of 5 knots.

"Don't this thing go any faster?! Demanded the hostage taker.

"Any faster and you'll attract attention. The harbour master will have us for speeding." replied Marcus, trying to keep calm.

He knew the route out of the harbour like the back of his hand, so it gave him a chance to think. What the hell had just gone on? What was going to happen once they got to the moored vessel?

He could stop this now, run the boat up on a sandbank at speed and take his chances in a fist fight. But there was the chance of the hostage taker getting a shot off before he was overpowered. One lucky shot, one dead person.

Chapter 3

Time flew by and the vessel they were meeting loomed up on the horizon. A cabin cruiser, at least £1m worth, it's sleek outline glistened in the autumn sun.

Instinctively Marcus swung the boat around to the landing pontoon at the rear of the larger vessel. Cutting the engine, the rib drifted up to the pontoon and Marcus turned to his captor.

Pistol in hand, he pointed at Jack "OK, on the boat."

Normal boarding custom is to first secure the two vessels together with mooring lines, but Jack could feel it wasn't wise to point out the error in this seafaring custom.

Climbing onto the side wall of the rib, he leap across and onto the pontoon. As Bert covered Jack with his pistol, he called over his shoulder to the third hostage, the unknown lad. "Now you."

Following suit, the boy leap across to join Jack.

Turning the gun to Marcus, he growled "Next"

Marcus hopped between the boats and onto the wooden deck. As he looked round to see Bert coiling up a mooring rope. "Right. Get this boat tied on." he yelled as he threw the line at the group.

Jumping across, he turned to first to Jack.

"You and him" pointing at the third lad, "Get them bags across."

"You, follow me" you hissed at Marcus, before opening the door of the boat and disappearing inside."

Silently Marcus followed, through the narrow passageways and coming out onto the bridge.

The bridge was vast. The steps brought Marcus out into a a cabin with curved windows wrapping around almost 360°, stopping only for the passageway.

An array of screens and controls faced him, charts, sonar for depth, weather patterns, radar, engine information such as temperature, revs and fuel.

Placing his hand firmly on Marcus shoulder, Bert forced him into the 'Captain' seat. As Marcus soaked up the masses of information in front of him, Bert spoke.

"If you want to stay alive, you get us to here!" thrusting a scrap of paper at Marcus. Written on it were simple lat and long co ordinates.

Bert stomped out, presumably to check on the loading down stairs. Marcus gulped, he had to work out how to set the nav computer and quickly. He scrolled across the maps and the destination appeared. North Africa, Morocco specifically. He was confused and overwhelmed. Maybe he'd got it wrong. He checked again. Definitely Morocco.

At this point Bert burst in again. "Done it?"

Marcus looked at him blankly

"Have you set the course?"

"Ready to go" Marcus replied. He knew he could set the autopilot once they were under way.

"Then do it." Bert snapped.

"Where are the other two?" Marcus dared to ask.

"Secured below now get going!"

Marcus turned to the control panel in front of him. He pushed a button and a loud clanking came from outside as the anchor began to raise. It lasted for a few seconds, they were in shallow water.

He placed his hand on the throttles and eased them forward. The twin engines began to purr. As the speed picked up, Marcus eased them back slightly and placed his hand on the wheel. Instantly Bert shouted "Why are we not going fast?"

"If we go full speed we'll run out of fuel before we get to Morocco. And there are loads of sandbanks out here, we have to take it steady."

Bert let out a disapproving hiss but he realised he couldn't argue. He settled on a seat behind Marcus, covering him with the pistol.

Chapter 4

Below decks, Jack and the mystery lad had been locked in an empty store room by their captor. The engines had been making a steady hum for the last half hour when Jack turned to his companion.

His emotions were all over the place. He had fear. He'd been kidnapped at gunpoint.

Angry. Why was he caught up in something clearly nothing to do with him?

Finally, uncertainty. How much longer would this go on for? The boat was under way, would the door open and he'd eat a bullet, his purpose finish?

Jack had a thousand questions but he'd have to start with the easy ones, the beginning.

"Who are you. What is this about?"

The shaken lad was slumped against the wall staring into space. He sighed and eased himself into a sitting position. He brushed his sandy blond hair away from his eyes and turned to Jack.

"My name is Toby. I'm the reason all this has happened. I'm so sorry you and your friend got dragged into it."

"What do you mean it's you fault? You organised this?"

"No. I am the Heir in a powerful family. I've been kidnapped by these men so they could ransom me.

The ransom is those bags we unloaded. £1,000,000."

"So if your family paid the ransom, how come you are still here?"

"The drop went wrong. The Police were there. There was a big shoot out. The guy in charge, Bert, made a dash for it. This must be his escape plan, but the rest of his gang are all dead. He has nobody to sail the boat."

They continued chatting until they heard foot steps in the hall way, followed by a key turning in the lock.

Bert stood in the door way, trade mark pistol in hand stance. Pointing at Jack, he growled "You come with me"

Jack immediately stood and followed him out, Bert locked the door again as he left. He was led out onto the open deck just outside the bridge. Bert tucked his gun into his belt and began to look around.

He laid eyes on a length of rope. Twisting Jack around, he forced his hands together behind his back and began to tie them. Marcus was watching from his seat at the controls.

Now Bert scoured the deck again, returning with a length of chain. As he began to wrap it around the young deck hand, Marcus pre empted what was coming.

Dashing from the wheel house, he positioned himself between Jack and Bert.

"What are you doing?" he screamed.

Bert snarled, a cruel look on his face.

"The boy is dead weight, an un paying passenger. Drain on resources. It's time for you to honour a fine maritime tradition young cap'ain Jack, and walk the plank.

Marcus was stung, like a cold knife to the heart.

"No!" he yelled.

Bert was furious, drawing his gun he pointed straight at Marcus, who had spread himself as wide as possible to cover Jack behind him.

"Can he drive this boat?" Bert snapped at Marcus

"Yes, I can teach him"

"Then you will die and he will drive" said Bert, taking aim at Marcus' head.

"No!" Marcus cried. "It needs more than one person."

"You've got ten seconds to explain, then one of you dies" said Bert, moving his aim around Marcus to Jack.

"It's a three day journey. You need to have somebody on watch at all times. Keeping an eye out for other boats, watching the weather."

"You lie. One of you dies, you choose!"

"Listen. You'll get run down by a bigger ship, a container boat or an oil tanker. Everybody will die."

Bert thought about it for a moment before withdrawing his aim.

"OK, but if you try anything, I will kill one of you and take my chances with the other one."

Chapter 5

Charlie stirred in the empty bed. Bleary eyed he looked at the clock. 1030. His stomach rumbled, giving him the perfect cure for his loneliness. He could take a lunch to his boyfriend at work. He thought about it more. Lunch with Marcus, bum round the centre for the afternoon admiring wetsuited lads, and then maybe some fun in the rope store after everybody has gone home.

He slid out of bed and into his adidas running tights. The black Lycra glistened in the sunlight filtering through the blinds. He pulled on a pair of black socks and fished his running trainers out from under the bed, the black shoes with white soles were highlighted by the bright red laces, jumping out against the black. Charlie continued his black look, a baggy black Nike hoody to cover the top of his body. From his bedside table, he grabbed his phone and bashed out a quick txt to Marcus 'Bringin u food, c u lunch time sexy xxx'. Plugging his earphones in, he hit shuffle. Finally he finished his look with a white beanie, sat back on his head to leave his fringe hanging out.

Entering the kitchen, he quickly threw together some rolls, throwing them into his rucksack along with a few energy drinks.

He stepped out the door, setting his running app, he used the garden furniture to assist with stretching, before striding off to the Outdoor centre.

An hour later he arrived at the centre. Charlie was part of the furniture here, it was where he and Marcus had first met.

Marcus had been the introvert Grammar school senior, quietly progressing his instructor qualifications, a way to make some money while he was at Uni.

Charlie had been the extroverted athlete, practising his wake boarding. Charlie was so cool, so relaxed but so openly gay, Marcus kept it hidden, it wasn't the done thing in his society.

Over the Summer they'd grown closer, Charlie's wild boy persona was irresistible for Marcus. One day Marcus went for it. He pulled Charlie into an empty changing room and without a word, began tonguing him intensely. Charlie responded, not breaking from the passionate kissing, he un did the draw cord of Marcus' boardies with one hand and fished out his throbbing cock. In seconds, Charlie dropped to his knees, taking Marcus into his mouth. Marcus was overcome, he was flying on an autopilot he didn't know he had. He grabbed Charlie by the back of the head, forcing his cock harder into his mouth while frantically kissing the back of his neck. His balls exploded, pumping wave after wave of cum into Charlie's mouth. His fat cock gave little room, so it spilt out, falling onto the sleek bronze chest. His knees gave out, he collapsed to the floor.

They lay together on the floor of the changing room, gasping in each others arms. Breathlessly Charlie rasped "Do me." His dick standing to full attention, primed and ready to go.

Marcus had taken the step into his new life, there was no turning back. He bravely admitted "I don't know how." Charlie didn't miss a beat "Come to mine tonight, I'll teach you"

The Summer had drawn to an end and Marcus decided, he wanted to share his love with the world. The centre held an end of season barbecue. Speeches were made and at the end, Marcus jumped up. He rambled out a few lines, but the most important one was thus "Charlie and I are in a relationship".

As he got to the entrance, he was confronted with dozens of flashing blue lights. Police cars, Ambulances, normal cars with stick on lights. Straight away he knew something terrible had happened. He kept walking, only to come up against a cordon of Police tape and burly Police officer.

"Stay back, this is a crime scene, nobody is allowed in"

"What's happened?" He asked, a tremble developing in his voice.

"Nothing. Move along!"

His thoughts flashed by at a thousand miles per hour. Had something happened to Marcus?

"My boyfriend works here. Is he OK?"

"Your boyfriend?" The Policeman looked down at him, disapproving.

"Yes, I said my boyfriend. Has something happened to Marcus?"

"Marcus you say? You'd better come through"

Chapter 6

Marcus sat at the helm until darkness fell. The darkness suddenly made him realise, he hadn't eaten in twenty four hours. His stomach rumbled and he thought of Charlie, Charlie was a great cook. Right about now they'd be sitting down to an evening meal. Instead he was off the coast of France, being held hostage by a mad man and dressed in nothing but a wetsuit.

He knew in his mind he needed to buy time. He'd done it once with Jack. He needed to it again and longer.

Luck was on his side as the weather radar bleeped out a warning. He glanced across to the satellite image being displayed. A deep area of low pressure 50 miles ahead. Placing his hand on the throttle levers, he eased them back to idle. Until now Bert, his captor, had been staring out of the window aimlessly. Suddenly he back to his full force.

"Why have you done that, why are we stopping?"

"There is a big storm ahead. If we goto into that it'll sink us. We need to drop anchor and ride out the edge of it."

"You lie."

Tired and hungry, Marcus' frustrations began to boil over. "Why do you say that every time? You forced me onto this boat to sail it, but you constantly doubt me. See for yourself.." He gestured to the weather radar.. "You must have seen the weather forecast on tv before, when they say a storm is coming. The cloud begins to swirl in tightly".. the radar picture showed mass of cloud, 50 miles wide, wrapping tightly into itself.

Silence. Marcus studied Bert as he pondered the situation.

"Drop anchor."

Marcus reached onto the console, pushing the anchor button. Outside the chains rattled as the brakes released on the anchor winches, sending them crashing into the sea.

The noise subsided and Marcus looked at Bert. "Anchors dropped, Captain."

"Captain, yes, I like that. Very well. For the last hour I've listened to your stomach rumbling. As you are no longer steering, you can do some cooking." Pausing for a moment he thought. "And prepare something for the other two."

Chapter 7

Marcus left the bridge and headed into the maze of passageways, opening and closing the various doors as he went. Bedrooms, a bathroom, a lounge room, finally a galley. He studied the kitchen seen, everything you'd expect to find in your average home. A grill, an oven, fridge and freezer. He opened the door of the freezer and began searching the shelves. The selection wasn't great but it was stocked to feed a gang of men for a week, so plenty of food.

He poured a bag of chips onto an oven tray and accompanied it with chicken in foil trays, slamming the lot into the oven he slumped down at the table. It was the first time he had nothing to concentrate on since arriving at the centre twelve hours ago. His mind drifted, thoughts of Charlie.

Would he know what had happened? Maybe he thought he was dead?

The smell of dinner brought him back to the now. He pulled the tray of pipping hot food from the oven, just in time for the door to open. Jack and Toby filed in, followed by Bert.

Chapter 8

The unlit rib bobbed about in the dark. In the distance the shore lights sat on the horizon, facing into the sun that was peaking over the other horizon. It was 0630 and dawn was breaking. The silhouette of six figures could be made out. One remained fixed at the control column. Another was sat at the back. The other four were limbering up, stretching. A familiar four. They were preparing for a very special triathlon. An escape and evasion theme.

Assuming they had escaped from a hostile ship, the four would swim two miles of open water to a beach RV marked on their escape map. Here they would ditch the wetsuits and pick up their bikes. Now they had to cover 26 miles back to base, the rules stated a minimum ten miles had to be a running leg, leaving the exact route and options down to the leader.

The team would be pursued by a hunter force, another group of four who would attempt to track and intercept the escapees with the aim of recapturing them.

The four figures finished their warm up. The fifth man at the back of the boat checked his watch. 06:34 and 30 seconds. "30 seconds" he said barely above a whisper. Silence, as they made their final preparations, pulling goggles down, taking a final mental picture of the lights on the shore line.

"Ten seconds... Five... four.. three... two.. go"

Two at a time, they dived head first into the black water. Josh and Matt, followed by Harry and Ryan.

The sea was calm, perfectly flat. Excellent swimming conditions. Josh powered into the lead. He was swimming North, but the tide was running East to West, so he aimed 45° to the right of the lights he was aiming for. Matt was on his left shoulder, with Ryan and Harry a few lengths behind and to the right, to avoid the washing machine effect of the front swimmers.

Josh had a plan, a simple one. Make the beach RV with as little light as possible, so he was setting a fast pace. It felt like the lights were not getting any closer as they twinkled on the horizon, but eventually the group started to make ground. Josh altered his stroke briefly, to stick his head up high, a bearing check.

More of the sun was now crawling over the horizon, rising behind them, the four lads were only visible by their black swim caps and the small wake behind them. Once they hit the beach it was going to be an out right sprint for the bikes, no time for stealthy crawling.

Finally a welcome noise, the sound of the surf breaking on the shingle beach. A boom as the waves crashed onto the shore, then the rattle as the water drained back out. A hundred yards later and they hit the beach.

Josh and Matt were first to their feet. After two miles of fast swimming through open water, to suddenly stand up and demand full power from the legs was painful. It was steep climb up the shingle beach, it was more sea defence than tourist attraction. It rose at a 45° angle, levelling off into shelves every 20 yards.

Matt's thighs burned as he followed Josh up the beach. He wanted to look back, for Ryan and for Harry, but he dare not, he needed to stay right on Josh's shoulder. Breathing hard, he pushed on, "Shut up legs" he thought to himself. Water poured out of his wetsuit, leaving a wet trail on the shingle behind him.

A row of beach huts shielded the shoreline from the main road, each one painted in a different colour, some patterned and a few even had murals. The bikes were concealed within a beach hut, number 317. Every one of the lads carried a key for the hut, a back up in case they were split up on the swim.

As they approached the endless row of huts, Josh glanced at the number on the closest building, 296, twenty short, so about another 200 yard run along the beach. Bending his run, he looked over his shoulder to the rest of his team "Follow me, 200 yards. We gotta keep moving, we don't know if the Hunter force is mobile yet"

His heart was pumping, adrenaline following, he always wanted to win. Behind him the other three were pushing on through the pain in their legs.

As he sprinted along the wooden board walk to the hut, Josh reached behind for the zipper on his wetsuit. Grabbing the lanyard, he gave a sharp tug downwards. Immediately he felt the cool air circulating around his back, the Westerly breeze was mercifully behind him, the air laced with salt whipped up from the surf. As pounded the decked pavement, he dodged around the clumps of dead seaweed and scattered shells, thrown there during big storms.

Finally he could see the hut. Easing his stride slightly, he rolled back the left sleeve of his wetsuit. The hut key was was tied around his wrist with a short piece of string, now dangling in the breeze as he sprinted to the door.

Key in hand, he reached for the door and stopped. The lock was open. His heart sank. Surely the hunter force hadn't beaten them already?

His heart was beating what felt like ten thousand beats a minute. He took the handle and pulled the door open. A familiar sight greeted him. Colonel Dempsey.

"Ah Josh. Excellent. I thought you'd be the first man through the door. Strong character, leading from the front."

The Colonel was seated at the small table within the hut, supping a cup of tea. His escort stood over his right shoulder. Hands behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. Perfectly pressed fatigues and boots shined to perfection.

Seconds later the other three burst onto the scene. Matt first, breathing heavily he was shocked by the visitor to the RV point. He managed a breathless "Colonel" before bending double to try and catch his breath. His wetsuit was rolled to his waist, his wet tri suit glistened in the morning sun as it's rays caught the black material covering his chest.

Ryan and Harry appeared simultaneously, equally as breathless and surprised to see the boss. Both in various stages of removing their wetsuits in readiness for transitioning to the bike leg.

Despite gasping for breath, all four stood to attention in front of the table.

"At ease Gentlemen." The Colonel always spoke with an Upper Class accent, but with a hint of the East End.

"Well I'm sorry to disturb you on this fine Monday morning, but it seems we have a situation requiring your specialist skills. It's very fast moving, so I'll brief you on the way to the aircraft."

Josh began to peel his wetsuit off, but the Colonel interjected

"Don't worry about changing, I've got a vehicle outside ready to take us to the airport."

He rose and walked past the stunned lads, still dripping wet from their swim. Josh leading, they turned and followed him to the car park where Two Land Rover defenders were waiting. The vehicles were identical, plain grey with two front seats and an open plan back.

The Private entered first, then the Colonel, positioning themselves on the side benches against the bulkhead behind the driver. Now the lads, Josh and Matt, Harry and Ryan, Ryan closing the door as he seated himself.

No sooner had he closed the door, than the vehicle took off at speed, bumping across the rough gravel car park, the other landy racing past them to take up the lead. The driver swung a hard left onto the tarmac road, the man in the passenger seat lent forward and pressed several buttons. Suddenly a two tone siren kicked in. Looking through the windscreen, Josh could see the other vehicle had done the same, revealing some previously discrete flashing blue lights. The agricultural engine of the farm vehicle screamed as it reached 70mph, racing along the Hayling island sea front. As they rounded a bend in the road, Josh could see Police Motorcycles in the distance, out riders ensuring a clear path.

The private who was escorting the Colonel reached under his seat, pulling out a cellophane wrapped pack of sports drinks. Slicing the plastic, he passed the bottles around the enclosed space.

The four military men in the vehicle seemed completely un phased by the what was happening, but Josh surveyed the faces of his three friends.

Matt was sat opposite him, his wetsuit now full on his body and zipper done up. He flashed an excited grin at his buddy.

Sat next to Matt was Ryan. He was using his left hand to cling onto a roof handle, staring intently out of the back window, his face a picture of concern. His 2XU wetsuit was rolled down to his waist, with the arms laying loosely in his lap.

Sat next to Josh was Harry. His face expressed his bewilderment at the events of the last ten minutes.

Josh turned back, glancing through the windscreen he recognised Langstone roundabout. One of the outriders was positioned to the right, stopping traffic. He glanced at his watch, 07:30, rush hour. As the convoy swept onto the roundabout, Josh finally allowed himself to feel just a slight amount of excitement, all this fanfare was for him and his friends.

They banked left onto the Westbound slip road of the A27. Normally wedged solid with traffic, the road ahead was empty. Again part of the Escort Group had stopped two lanes of rush hour traffic to give them a clear run.

He estimated they'd taken the roundabout at about 40mph, and by the time they reached the top of the slip road, they were doing 80, this was obviously not a standard Land rover engine and gearbox, despite the scream coming from beneath the floor.

Now that they had reached the dual carriageway, the ride became a lot smoother. Right on cue, the solider in the front passenger seat passed a folder through the partition to the Colonel.

Opening out, he handed off pages to the Private opposite him, shifting through the folder until he found an A4 sized photo. It was a young lad, slightly younger looking than Josh and his friends.

"Toby Jones. Heir to the Jones family fortune. Kidnapped from his Halls at Cambridge Wednesday night."

Josh studied the photo. 5'9", slim build, bright blond hair, tanned complexion. He passed it to Harry as the Colonel handed him the next photo.

"Robert Young. Leader of the Gang that kidnapped the boy. He's holding him but we don't think he's the mastermind."

Again Josh took a good look at the picture. The physical size of the man was intimidating. He was the dictionary definition of brick shit house.

He passed the photo around.

"Now, this is where it gets interesting."

The Colonel passed the next photo, a Police crime scene photo of the shoot out that had taken place at the ransom exchange.

"Seems there was a ransom demand. Plod handled it. Made a right cock up of it. Killed most of the gang, but two got away."

Pausing to hand out the next photo, a picture of the van on the quay at the sailing centre.

"Two escaped with the money and the boy. It seems they planned to make a get away by boat. Unfortunately the boat driver didn't make it"

Dempsey handed over the photo of the man known as Tony, is body slumped against the van.

"They stumbled across a couple of Water sports instructors."

The Colonel shifted the files and found the next photos.

"Marcus Coverdale and Jack Harvey. Now this man, Robert Young, improvised. He took these two hostage, presumably to crew his boat. He used a RHIB from the Sailing Centre to make his escape to deep water, where he boarded this, the Amaryllis.

Luckily her transponder is working, so we've been tracking her for the last twenty four hours, she's just entering the Bay of Biscay. Intel suggests she's headed for Morocco.

Now then. This is a right jurisdictional mess. Things are too unstable and moving too quickly to deal with this through the normal channels and that's why I'm here.

You're going to fly straight out to Gibraltar and meet the Argyll. She will steam an intercept course toward the Amaryllis, standing off over the horizon. Under the cover of darkness she will insert you onto the target vessel using her fast boats. Once on board you will put down the threat to the hostages by retaking control of the vessel and once secured sail a course home to British waters.

Although this is a deniable operation, a limited but powerful amount of resources will be available. Things are tense between us and the Spanish at the moment, so they will not fail to miss the sudden break in routine by the Argyll and no doubt take an interest. Any advances by them will be handled by the Argyll but you should be prepared.

Questions?"  
Josh didn't miss a moment.

"Actions on, Sir?"

"Jittery bastard, ain't he Josh? His plan has fallen apart, he's making it up on the fly.

If you take fire, respond with deadly force.

If he surrenders, secure him. Sail to the edge of British territoriality waters, evacuate yourselves and the hostages, then we'll tip off the Coastguard that it's a smuggling boat.

Finally. If you arrive and he has killed the hostages. Slot him, deep six the body, recover the bodies of the hostages and then scuttle the boat."

The group sat in silence, absorbing the seriousness of what the Colonel had just said.

The land rover approached Southampton Airport, a security gate was already open with a guard waving them through. All around people going about their daily lives were being interrupted to make way for this important convoy.

Steaming across the airfield, they went straight into a hanger, with figures clad in black pulling the doors shut behind them.


End file.
